


Play By Play

by JessiThatGurl



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Strap, Theatre!AU, When We Have Sufficiently Tortured Each Other, loubbie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-05 09:36:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18363383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessiThatGurl/pseuds/JessiThatGurl
Summary: Lou is the star of the theatre, always in the spotlight. Debbie is just a stage hand with a major crush on the leading lady. With a group of backstage friends, Debbie plots to steal Lou’s heart. But this will be no easy con, no matter how many pros she’s got.





	1. Ocean’s 7

Lou Miller was a star, there was no doubt about it. She was born to be up on the stage, shining brighter than the spotlight as she morphed seamlessly into a plethora of roles like a chameleon. Every night she commanded the attention of the packed theatre, audiences held in silent rapture by her spellbinding performance. She wore her characters like a second skin, putting them on with her costumes and shedding them after the curtain fell. She breathed finesse, radiated a surety of being that brought authenticity to her acting. Everyone who watched her perform fell in love, most with her natural talent, some with her beauty, and one certain person, with her heart. 

Debbie Ocean was only a stagehand, a nameless face behind the scenes, never to walk upon the lit stage. She went unnoticed, always in the wings or behind the drop curtain, never acknowledged or appreciated. It was a thankless job, one which exhausted and frustrated Debbie to her core, but one she wouldn’t trade for the most brilliant star in Hollywood. She could put up with the long hours of assembling backdrops, the busy scurrying in the dark to place props and change scenery, if only it meant she could be in the proximity of one Lou Miller. Yes, Debbie had a silly schoolgirl crush on that ethereal beauty, pleased whenever she had to help Lou with a quick change or outfit her with her props. She didn’t even mind when Lou wanted her to go on a coffee run, or to the musty storage basement to find some long-abandoned piece of furniture that needed repainting, or even on thrift store runs to search through endless racks and bins for hard-to-find niche period artifacts. Sometimes Debbie felt downright ashamed of the way she pined for someone who would never in a million years return her feelings. She knew for a fact that Lou was a lesbian, seeing how she always seemed to have a pretty plaything of a girl waiting for her in the audience with flowers and a kiss; but that didn’t mean Lou would want to date her. Lou was a certified stud, and she could have any woman she wanted. So why would she want Debbie, a plain and unremarkable worker bee, when she could have exotic, gorgeous social butterflies?

The play the company was currently producing was called Dysphoria, a new-agey exploration of gender roles and perceptions of masculinity and femininity. Men flaunted gorgeous dresses with full bustiers, women rocked crushed velvet suits with obvious bulges in their crotches. It was a bold statement, one to challenge audiences to redefine what it meant to be male and female. It was also highly risqué, seeing as how it contained graphic depictions of sex and frequent displays of nudity. Debbie, working props, had to handle items of a sensitive and sexual nature, everything from furry handcuffs to nipple clamps. 

One prop that always held her interest was an eight inch long, solid black strap-on dildo. It was attached to a leather harness, meant to be worn by a woman. In this play, it was worn by Lou’s character during a particularly graphic scene in which she uses the dildo to dominate a man in a curly wig and a lacy frock. Debbie could not get over the sight of Lou naked on stage, the black strap-on erect as she lubed it up. It gave Debbie shivers to see the raw sexual energy just radiating off Lou as she strutted about the stage, delivering her lines about how she would take men’s power with her own cock, her breasts firm and shapely, her ass pert and round. Debbie had to take deep breaths during rehearsals to keep herself from becoming overwhelmed with lust. Behind the curtain by the prop table, she had a perfect view of Lou as she mounted her male costar, ramming her dildo mercilessly into him with practiced precision. It made Debbie wonder what it would be like to be that man, to have Lou fuck her with such power and cockiness. She was practically dripping by the time the curtain fell at the end of the scene, nearly throbbing as she helped Lou out of the strap and into her black silk robe for practice curtain call. Debbie spent many nights with her vibrator and the image of that thick black strap in her mind. 

But it was all just a pointless fantasy. Lou and Debbie ran in completely different social circles, like two heavenly bodies in fixed orbits never to cross paths. Lou was always at some social event or another with well-to-do corporate sponsors of the theatre or administrative superiors. She was a natural socialite, spending time with the elite of the theatre world. Debbie, on the other hand, spent her free time with those who worked behind the scenes. It was a good group of people, and she was very grateful for their company, despite her longing to be with Lou. 

First, there was her best friend, Tammy Robinson. Tammy was a beautiful blonde doll of a woman with a gentle smile and an affable disposition. Debbie had met her in college, and the two had instantly bonded over their studious work ethic and shared affinity for film studies. Nowadays, Tammy worked as the stage director, calling shots from her earpiece and keeping things running smoothly. Everyone was happy to comply with her wishes, thankful for the way she treated everyone with boundless respect no matter their position or role. She worked exceptionally well under pressure, a necessary trait when working in live entertainment. In her friend group, she was the mom, always the designated driver and certifiable advice giver. 

Rose Weil was head of the costume department, known for her extraordinary talent with a sewing machine. She made all of the costumes for the theatre’s productions by her own design and was incredibly gifted at hand sewing details with lace, beads, or embroidery. Her work was always perfect for the era and mood of the play, and other theatre companies often commissioned her work during the theatre’s off season. Rose was a slightly neurotic woman who never took a hairbrush to her tangled knot of brunette hair. Debbie was always nagging her to use conditioner in her nest of a mane, but Rose wore her signature mop like a badge of pride. She was often shy or moody and often preferred staying home to read fashion magazines than go out, but her friends always dragged her into their plans and she didn’t have the heart to tell them no. She was often accompanied in her workshop with her orange Persian, Leo, who took to batting about fabric scraps and curling up by the treadle of Rose’s sewing machine, putting louder than the machine’s engine. The cat was very fond of Rose, but he was wary of strangers and had scratched more than one unsuspecting member of the costume department from his various perches. 

Amita Shah, a beautiful and curvy Indian woman, headed the makeup department. She was an absolute artist in her trade, her use of colors and shading of eyeshadow and contouring more beautiful than the artistic nuances of a painting. Amita also made a hobby of jewelry making, and she often made custom pieces for plays. She was a no-nonsense type, scrupulous in managing her time and putting her best foot forward. People who didn’t know her well often thought her cold and aloof, but she was simply pragmatic and valued logic over feeling. She was meticulous in nearly every aspect of her life, never drinking excessively or procrastinating. It was a dedication that Debbie had always admired. It made Amita very trustworthy, and she could be counted on for anything she promised. She often found herself picking up the slack of other workers behind the curtain, her drive for perfection offended by others’ lack of motivation. 

Head of the hair department was Daphne Kluger, a former pageant queen who although an expert in her field, was often intolerably narcissistic as a symptom of her years with sashes and tiaras. She was vain, self-centered, and selfish, but with the help of her friends, she at least was aware of her flaws and tried to curb her natural impulses toward vanity. If she had been rich, she would have been insufferable. It was only her working class status that kept her from joining the ranks of the theatre elite, and she held this unfairness with a certain heaviness in her heart. Despite her inflated ego, Daphne was a very friendly person and probably the most fun in the friend group. She was the one who got Rose out of her shell, who made Amita relax and enjoy the moment; she was like the popular friend they’d never had. She was one of those people who had peaked in high school- prom queen, cheerleader, student body president. It had been hard on her to get a “real job” and face adulthood without the benefit of high school politics. 

The light department was managed by Leslie Baller. She could be found perched up on the catwalk or in the light booth, dreadlocks bundled into her oversized beanie and eyes squinting against the glare of the stage lights behind tiny sunglasses. In terms of technology, there was nothing she couldn’t do. Her mastery of stage lighting went past technically sound and into the realm of the magical. She was always down to party and had a penchant for a certain illegal plant. She was also chill and relaxed, the type of person who could instantly make you feel comfortable in their presence. Leslie sometimes went by the pseudonym “Nine Ball”, a reference to her exceptional skill at playing pool and nine being her lucky number. 

Constance Wu, a small Asian woman dressed in hipster style, was the head of the art department and resident class clown. She was skilled at creating lifelike backdrops and, by subtle nuances, rendering any piece of furniture, clothing, or prop a relic from any time period. When she wasn’t crouched over her worktable, tongue poking out in concentration as she added fading or dust marks, she was often causing trouble for the cast and crew. She rode her skateboard to work every day, and even took to riding it around backstage, much to the annoyance of the other crew members. Constance was always telling jokes, as she had a hobby in comedy and would perform stand up at local bars. She also pulled the occasional prank, harmless laughs at the actors’ expense. One time, she had replaced the strap-on with a banana, so stealthily that nobody noticed until the time came for that scene in rehearsal. With the real strap nowhere to be found, Lou had been forced to use the banana strap, although faking the sex act, of course. Everyone had nearly passed out from laughter, and Tammy brought rehearsal to a halt until Constance caved and uncovered the original from beneath her baggy sweatshirt. She was a lot of fun to be around, and always knew how to brighten someone’s day when they needed a little cheering up. 

Tonight, Debbie and her friends were gathered around a table at Lita’s, the bar closest to the theatre which had become their usual haunt. The final dress rehearsal had been that night, and though it was nearly midnight and they were beyond exhausted, the group wanted a chance to relax and unwind before calling it a night. Each woman was nursing her signature drink: Debbie a Manhattan, Tammy a Daiquiri, Rose a Gimlet, Amita a Sidecar, Daphne a Margarita, Leslie a Moscow Mule, and Constance a Mint Julep. They were talking idly about what had happened that day, but Debbie’s mind was elsewhere as she remembered the way her hand had brushed Lou’s thigh when she had helped her out of her strap during rehearsal...

“Um, Earth to Debbie?” Constance was waving her hand in front of Debbie’s face, laughing slightly. “Come down from outer space, bitch, we were just talking about you.”

“Oh?” Debbie’s face blushed bright red as she felt everyone’s eyes locked on her. “Um, what about?” She hoped nobody could tell that she was fantasizing about Lou and her strap. 

“Just your major crush on Lou,” Daphne giggled. “We saw you making eyes at her when you were handling that strap. Wishing she’d fuck you with it?”

“Daphne!” Rose chastised as she swatted her friend’s hand. “That’s incredibly vulgar!” Her Irish accent lilted the words teasingly. 

“It’s true, though,” Amita added. “We all know you’ve got the hots for her.”

“Oh my god.” Debbie laid her head in her arms in shame, peeking up at the other women through her lashes. “Am I really that transparent?”

Leslie nodded solemnly. “Yeah. You kinda are.”

Debbie faceplanted into her arms again. 

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” Tammy soothed. “I mean, it’s probably only obvious to us because we know you so well. Nobody else probably has a clue.”

Constance snorted. “Yeah, they do, actually. The guy that does the scaffolding wants to proposition you two for a threesome.”

Debbie let out a groan as she raised her head again. And the first thing she saw across the crowded room as though honed in by a searchlight was none other than the woman she had just been fantasizing about, Lou Miller. She was sitting on a bar stool, laughing with a slutty looking girl who was leaning on the stool between Lou’s spread legs. Debbie tried, and failed, not to be jealous of the woman Lou was with. 

“Guys,” Debbie whimpered. “Guess who’s here?”

“What the craic,” Rose exclaimed, spotting Lou as she scanned the tables. “Speak of the Devil.”

Lou’s arms were on the girl’s lower back, sliding down to squeeze her ass that was barely covered by her gold minidress. The woman leaned in and whispered something in Lou’s ear, then kissed her lips before heading off toward the ladies’ room. Lou took the opportunity to gaze around the bar. She caught sight of Debbie’s group, causing Debbie to look away as though blinded. 

“Don’t look now, Debs,” Daphne said, trying to subtly point behind Constance and Leslie. “Strap queen at ten o’ clock. And she’s coming in for a landing.”

Lou was walking over to their table, slinking like a cat of prey through the mingling crowds. Debbie couldn’t even breathe. She wanted to die. Literally. She wished for the earth to swallow her up, or maybe for the alcohol to suddenly knock her unconscious. She had never been more panicked or more embarrassed in her entire life. She had half a mind to hide beneath the table, but before she could even move a muscle, Lou was sliding between Tammy and Amita with that stupid cocky grin of hers that simultaneous made Debbie want to wipe it off with a punch or a kiss. 

“Hey, guys,” Lou greeted with a general nod to the group. “Rehearsal went great tonight, huh?”

Debbie couldn’t find the words to reply; Hell, she couldn’t even find her breath. She couldn’t help but stare at the suit Lou was wearing. It was black and sleek, forming to Lou’s body in a way that accentuated all her best features. The (extremely) low-cut jacket plunged to her navel without anything beneath it, the sides of her breasts just visible if you looked close enough. The pants were skintight black leather, trailing down her long legs to a pair of black ankle boots. Her blonde fringe was messy and her shoulder length hair in uneven layers, eyes lined in a thick ring of smudged kohl and dark mascara. She looked like a rockstar, and she moved like one too. Debbie was mesmerized. 

“Starlet,” Daphne simpered in a tone of faux politeness. “Why aren’t you hanging out with the cool kids?” She always had hated Lou for being in the spotlight, jealous of the attention she had basked in all through her teenage years and resentful now that someone else had all the glory. 

Lou just gave her a look, like she was over it and didn’t need to acknowledge her comment with even a passing thought. Daphne wilted slightly beneath her piercing gaze. 

“Shut up, Daphne,” Tammy muttered, shoving her hand in Daphne’s face, then turning to look at Lou. “Great job tonight, Lou. You were phenomenal as always.” She sounded like a fangirl and Debbie wondered whether she had a crush on the lead woman too. 

“Thanks,” Lou replied offhandedly, as though she were so used to compliments they failed to hold meaning for her. “I just wanted to say, you guys deserve some recognition for all your hard work behind the scenes. I got you all invited to the wrap party at the end of the show.” Her tone wasn’t the least bit condescending or patronizing. She might have been the star, but considering her rank she was quite level-headed. She knew she was great, but she didn’t believe her talent made her better than anyone else. 

“Oh, wow,” Amita murmured, her face breaking into a huge smile. “Thanks, Lou. That’s really great of you!” She had always wanted to be able to go to the parties held by the theatre elite, but she had never been invited to one before. She was practically glowing. 

“Dope,” Constance agreed, stirring her drink with a straw. Leslie just nodded. 

Rose was beaming. “I’m going to make us all new dresses for it.”

“Make mine a suit.” Debbie had finally gotten up her nerve to speak, and it was a struggle just to keep her voice even.

Lou’s eyebrows raised at that. “I like your style, Ocean.” She had that signature smirk again, a mirthful light shining through her crystal blue eyes. She held Debbie’s gaze for a moment, then turned to see her date waving her back over to the bar. “Well, gotta run. See you later.” And then she winked, or attempted to anyway, which was somehow even more endearing than if she had winked properly. 

Debbie was practically dead from shock, her palms slick with sweat around her cocktail glass. She watched Lou until the other woman was lost in the crowd, then let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. She was quite proud of herself for keeping it fairly well together in front of Lou. 

“Oh my god!” Tammy squealed like a teenage girl. “I’ve always wanted to go to one of their parties. This is so exciting!” She and Amita grabbed hands and shrieked together, like fangirls at their idol’s concert. 

“Was she flirting with you or what?” Constance smirked, nudging Debbie with a bony elbow. Her eyebrows rose and fell suggestively.

“No, no, no,” Debbie replied, waving away the comment as though it were a pesky gnat. “There’s no way. She doesn’t even know I exist.” She felt slightly flustered at the idea that Lou could even be remotely interested in her. 

“She totally does,” Leslie offered. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have invited you to the party, right?” 

“She invited all of us,” Debbie reasoned. “That’s different.” But she couldn’t completely kill that spark of hope that had ignited inside her. She finally would get the chance to socialize with Lou, to hang out as equals and maybe get to know her better. It felt good to think that’d she’d be on equal footing with he woman she had so long admired from afar and raised on a pedestal of borderline idolatry. 

The rest of the night was a blur of drinks, dancing, and more drinks. Debbie got lost in her alcohol haze, laughing with her friends. They flirted with random men just to get free drinks, giving out fake numbers to avoid seeing these random strangers again. It was a running joke among the group to see who could get the most free drinks, and tonight that went to Daphne, who got so wasted she hurled her guts out in the bar’s bathroom and had to practically be carried out to the Uber idling by the curb. 

The next morning, Debbie regretted drinking so much. She had a nagging headache and a slightly sour stomach that coffee only seemed to aggravate. She didn’t have work until later that afternoon, when the backstage crew had to assemble in order to make the final preparations for the opening night production. But she still awoke before noon, still mulling over the way it felt to have Lou’s eyes meet her own. She was anxious, by both definitions of the word, both excited and worried. She couldn’t wait to see Lou again, but at the same time, she was dreading it. Knowing her, she’d probably embarrass herself in some way, or make her crush even more obvious to her colleagues. But what of that pseudo-wink Lou had given her in the bar, the lingering glance they had shared before she’d left the table? Had there been some deeper meaning hidden within that gaze? Debbie decided that she had probably been overthinking it; whatever it had meant, it most definitely did not mean Lou was interested in her. 

Sitting at her breakfast nook, nursing a steaming mug of coffee heavily diluted with milk and creamer, Debbie was daydreaming of seeing Lou with her strap that night when her phone buzzed with a text from Tammy. 

Tammy: Hey sleepyhead, up yet?

Debbie: Yeah, just woke up. No hangover for you?

Tammy: Nope never get them

Debbie: Lucky bitch

Tammy: Excited to see bae tonight?

Debbie: SHE’S NOT MY BAE

Tammy: Sure sure, meet me at mine in an hour?

Debbie: Gotcha, be there at noon

It was a long-standing tradition among their friend group to have brunch at Tammy’s the day of opening night for each show. Tammy made mimosas and the other women each brought something to share. Debbie, having woken up late, brought a box of store-bought doughnuts, which everyone but Daphne was grateful for. 

“Debbie, what the fuck?” Daphne stared at the doughnuts as if they were poisonous. “You know I’m on a diet! I can’t eat that!”

“Fine,” Amita said while snatching the box from Debbie. “Today’s my cheat day. More for me.” She picked a sprinkled doughnut with pink frosting and took a big bite. 

“I brought Irish oatmeal,” Rose offered. “Homemade.”

“Gross,” Constance said, sticking out her tongue in disgust. “I’ll just eat my Pop Tarts, thanks.”

Leslie had muffins, Daphne had fruit salad, and Amita had yogurt with granola. Everyone sampled some of everyone else’s food, except nobody but Rose touched the oatmeal, and Daphne only ate fruit, albeit most of the bowl. 

“I’m so thrilled with my costuming for this show,” Rose was staying between bites. “I really outdid myself, I think.”

“And my fucking backdrops are on point,” Constance added while throwing a peace sign. 

“This is probably one of the best productions we’ve ever done!” Tammy’s smile was so wide it nearly reached her pearl earrings. 

“I’m going to steal her heart,” Debbie announced. 

Everyone else was silent. Amita dropped her doughnut. Rose’s spoon dripped oatmeal on the faux wood tabletop, and Tammy was so intrigued she didn’t notice the glop besmirching her beloved dining room furniture. 

“Excuse me, what?” Leslie asked around a bite of Pop Tart, crumbs spraying. 

“I’m going to make Lou fall in love with me.” Debbie’s face was lit with a confident smile. “I have a plan.”

“Okaaaaay.” Daphne drew out the word as though it were putty she was stretching between her fingers. Her penciled-in eyebrows were cocked at different heights, giving her the look of a confused puppy. “Explain.”

Debbie’s eyes were shining as she pulled a wrinkled sheet of paper from her pocket, smoothing it out on the table. It was a list entitled Ocean’s 7, scribbled sloppily in lazy handwriting, the items on the list crossed out and rewritten so many times it was nearly illegible. 

“Okay, ladies.” Debbie met each of their eyes as she cracked her knuckles. “Here’s the plan.”


	2. Snaring The Strap Queen

Opening nights at the Metropolitan Theatre were a grand affair. The building shone in the darkness of the crisp September air like a Christmas tree, merry and ornamental. Posters outside announced the production and its stars, while tables inside were decked with Playbills and complimentary glasses of champagne in plastic flutes. The floors, stage, and seating had all been immaculately cleaned and reflected the brilliance of the house lights like so many looking glasses. The theatre itself was old-fashioned in a neoarchaic way, the plush velvet seats and gilded sconces on the walls reminiscent of a long-ago heyday of theatrical history. There were balconies towering in golden tiers along each side wall, and the back housed a spectacular mezzanine with a perfect view of the stage. Right in front of the stage, eye level with the wooden beams, were rows of pricey floor seating, offering an immersive close-up of the activity on stage. 

Debbie and her friends had worked tirelessly all afternoon to make certain everything was in its place, arranging the set pieces to sit on the tape markings they had stuck to the polished wood stage, ensuring proper alignment conducive to the actors’ rehearsed blocking. All of the items on the prop table were checked against a master list by Debbie, sorted into their assigned spots marked onto the table cloth so the actors would be able to grab them with the comfortable deftness of familiarity. Tammy ran cues with Leslie and Constance, making sure they knew when to switch lighting filters or draw the pulleys to raise or lower certain backdrops. Rose double-checked her costumes for last-minute adjustments, down to each sequin and each stitch. Daphne and Amita set up shop in the hair and makeup room, laying out their tools in rows along the lighted mirror stretching the width of an entire wall, chairs interspersed between their stations. 

By the time the actors were arriving for hair and makeup, everything was exactly as it needed to be for the show to run smoothly. Now came the hustle and bustle of readying the actors for their debut, a process which never ceased to be anxiety-inducing and could lead to tempers stretched thin. It was a flash of chaos, but soon enough everything was readied and the audience had filled up in the meantime. The packed house was buzzing like flies as they took their seats, Playbills rustling and anticipatory chatter floating like distant strains of music from beyond the curtain. Tammy tested her earpiece, then called for the house lights to dim and the curtain to rise. 

The show that night couldn’t have gone more smoothly. The actors performed with artful ease, moving along their marks in a dance tempoed by the rhythmic cadence of their perfectly-spoken lines. The audience soaked it all in, gasping and laughing at the appropriate moments. One elderly woman in the front row of the floor seats fainted when Lou began thrusting her strap into the cross-dressed man, her delicate sensibilities deeply offended by the bawdy display. Other than that one incident, the play went off without a hitch. 

Afterwards, Debbie and her friends met in the green room to go over phase one of Debbie’s heist. They were huddled in the far corner, out of hearing distance of the actors who were high off their success, raucously laughing together like a pack of drunken hyenas. 

“Phase one,” Debbie announced. “Make initial contact. Amita, do you have the bouquet?”

Amita nodded at a canvas tote bag by the foot of the upholstered chair she was sitting in. “Got it!”

“Great,” Debbie replied. “Tammy, you have everything ready back at your place?”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Tammy made a sailor salute. 

Debbie chuckled, rolling her eyes fondly at her eccentric friend. “Daphne, have you rehearsed your lines?”

The brunette nodded, her perfect tresses swaying around her shoulders. “Yes ma’am, I’ve got this thing down.”

Debbie sighed and nodded to her friends. “Okay, let’s do this.” She picked up the bouquet of red, orange, and yellow flowers and strode over to the group of actors. Lou was in the center of the huddle, laughing loudly at something a redheaded woman was saying. She seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, and Debbie felt a flutter of hesitation as she considered what she and her mates were attempting to pull off. It was a risky, calculated move, one which had a slight chance of backfiring or falling into ashy ruins.

Trying to worm her way into the crowd of actors was like trying to swim upstream. Everyone was so tightly packed and hanging on each together in a tangled mass of energetic unity. Debbie almost wanted to turn tail and give up when she found a slight break in the group and managed to slide through. She was immediately met with strange looks by the thespians, causing her to feel like a pigeon in a flock of flamingoes. 

“Lou!” She tried to seem confident and upbeat, even though her insides were squirming like baited worms. “Great job tonight! Your acting was impeccable and you really lit up the stage!” Internally, she cringed at her overenthusiastic display. Lou would probably think she was such a theatre nerd and write her off as mentally unstable. 

“Thanks.” Lou was giving her a slightly confused look, although she showed no sign of judgment or haughty exclusion, which the other actors currently had plastered on their made-up faces. “Nice work with the crew. You’re the ones who make us look good.” She seemed hesitant, but not entirely dismissive of Debbie. 

“My pleasure,” Debbie chirped, starting to fear that she was coming across like a hopeless fanatic. She remembered the bouquet and offered it toward Lou. “Um, these are for you.” She knew her face was beginning to heat up, the flames of embarrassment licking at her cheeks. 

Lou took the flowers graciously, her face forming a kindly smile, reminding Debbie of a bank of clouds breaking to reveal a shaft of sunlight. “Thank you, hun, you shouldn’t have!” She seemed genuinely pleased now, her eyes softening and the lines of her face relaxing into an easy languor. “I love the color palette. Like fire.”

Because you’re so hot, Debbie added silently to herself. “Glad you like them,” was what she actually spoke aloud. Debbie felt more at ease now, her lazy smile proof that she felt more comfortable with Lou, ignoring the other actors who had parted and shifted so that Debbie and Lou were slightly apart from the group. 

Right on cue, Daphne sidled over. “Hey, Debs. We’re heading over to Tammy’s to celebrate the opening.” She pretended like she was just noticing that Lou was there, looking between her and Debbie, then back to Lou. “Oh, hey there. Maybe you’d like to come with us? We’re having drinks and chilling at Tammy’s. You’re welcome to join.” Debbie was grateful for Daphne’s past as a pageant girl; those years of posed question-and-answer sessions onstage dealt a certain swindling believability to her words. 

Lou looked over at the group of actors close by, then back at Daphne with an air of slight skepticism. But then she nodded and said, “All right. The troupe was going to go get smashed at Lita’s, and I’m tired of having to shuttle Liam home when he’s drunk. He gets very handsy and lewd.” She was referring to the male costar she had fucked with the strap. 

Debbie internally high-fived herself and tried to keep her excitement from leaking through her wide Black Dahlia smile. “Great! Here’s the address.” She snatched a spare Playbill off a side table, scribbling Tammy’s address in barely legible chicken scratch, reading it aloud to make sure Lou could decipher it. “Okay, well, see you there. We’re heading out now. Will you be joining us soon?”

Lou had unknowingly thrown a cautious glance at her comrades, but looked back quickly and nodded. “Yup. I’ll be there in a hot sec.”

But apparently, Lou didn’t understand the meaning of a hot sec. It was nearing midnight, almost an hour after they had left the theatre. Debbie was pacing in front of Tammy’s marble fireplace, treading the cream carpeting with an air of nervous energy that was nearly palpable. She had already taken two shots of white rum despite everyone else’s decision to wait for Lou to arrive to start drinking. She was just about to take another shot when the chime of the doorbell pealed from the front hallway. 

Debbie practically ran to the door, then paused on the threshold, realizing that she didn’t want to seem too eager or desperate. Taking a deep breath, she counted to twenty, then opened the whitewashed wooden door. 

Lou was standing on the stoop, dressed in a tan boiler suit and looking extremely apologetic. “I am so sorry,” she blurted as she thrust a handle of Black Cow vodka into Debbie’s hands. “There were so many fans outside the theatre, clamoring for autographs and selfies. My publicist practically demanded I coddle each and every one of them, hoping they’d put out a good word for the theatre. Did you know this production has been the most successful opening ever for the Metropolitan? But what a shit show. A bunch of twenty-something girls kept shouting ‘Queen of the Gays’ at me. And then there was traffic...” She broke away with a sigh. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry about that. May I come in?”

Debbie nodded, dumbfounded at Lou’s genuine sincerity and immediately forgiving of her precocious arrival. She opened the door wider, permitting Lou’s entrance into the pristine foyer. 

“Wow,” Lou marveled. “Nice place. It’s like the cover of a design magazine. Makes my loft look like a garage.” She chuckled and smiled toward Debbie. “Anyway, that’s my favorite vodka. If you want the sex to be good, that’s the vodka.” She gave one of her clumsy, offhand winks, causing Debbie’s heart to do a flip-flop in her chest before swan-diving into her stomach. 

“Sounds good.” Debbie could have kicked herself for being so awkward and quiet. “Follow me. The girls are all so glad you wanted to join us.” She led Lou down the long hallway decorated with portraits of Tammy’s picture-perfect suburbanite family. She had a doting husband and three spirited children, all of whom were asleep upstairs. 

“Lou!” Tammy’s face brightened when she saw the pair appear in the doorway. “Welcome to my home. I’m pleased you came.” Ever the polite hostess, she ushered Lou to a seat on the brown leather sectional. She gestured to the glass coffee table spread with wines, beers, and liquors. “Help yourself.”

Lou plucked a Bud Light from the array and prised the cap off with her teeth. “Thanks. Sorry I was so late.” And she recounted her tale to the others, who listened like attentive schoolchildren. 

“Queen of the Gays,” Constance chortled, nearly spilling her Four Loko. “That’s a good one. Not quite as good as Strap Queen, though.”

Lou raised her brows in mild amusement. “Strap Queen, huh? That’s a new one.”

“It’s what Debbie started calling you during rehearsals,” Daphne offered, downing a shot of tequila. Debbie wanted to punch Daphne in her smug beauty queen face for revealing their private inside joke. 

“I like it.” Lou laughed with a deep little rumble that gave Debbie an indescribable lightning bolt of joy. To her, it was one of he best sounds she’d ever heard. Lou turned to her and grinned her signature smile that made Debbie’s insides feel like marshmallows. “You’re a clever one, Ocean, I’ll give you that.” She held Debbie’s gaze as she downed a swig of beer. 

“So, what’s it like being the lead?” Amita wondered curiously but without a hint of jealousy. “It’s got to be so incredible to be so admired and idolized.” Amita hadn’t touched her cranberry vodka for ten minutes, having forgotten it while her attention was focused on Lou like a beacon. 

“You’d think it would be a dream,” Lou sighed. Her mind seemed to waver behind a curtain of rationalization. “I love acting, of course, and it’s amazing to be able to portray such a strong female character. But it comes with its downfalls. One is that it gets rather exhausting. It’s so taxing, not just because of what happens onstage. Mostly from what happens off it, actually. The press, the paparazzi, the swarming horde of fans like bees. And then you get things like ‘Queen of the Gays’, which I mean, I am gay, but it’s just so weird to be receiving that kind of attention from people I don’t even know.” She took a long pull of beer and sighed. “I love having fans. Mostly when it means I’ve inspired them to pursue acting. But when it reaches the level of obsession, that’s quite another thing.”

Debbie couldn’t help but think that if she were a member of the general public, rather than a backstage crew member, she might be one of the screaming fans that followed Lou like imprinted ducklings. She could picture herself behind a metal barricade, shouting, “All hail the strap queen!” while fanatically trying to get just one glimpse at Lou. It was a sorry image, and Debbie was ashamed to think that it could actually happen in an alternate universe. She gulped a shot of Lou’s vodka, which was quite possibly the best vodka she’d ever tasted. 

“Holy fuck!” Debbie exclaimed, cutting off Tammy’s musings of how hard it must be to face public examination, causing Tammy to look like a kicked puppy. “This is the best fucking vodka I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

Lou looked over at Debbie with a nod. “Isn’t it? It’s made in Devon, England. I have it imported because I just can’t get myself to drink any other brand now.”

Debbie got a pleasant chill when she remembered what Lou had said about this certain vodka. She had taken two more shots of it in rapid succession before Tammy placed a gentle hand on her arm, saying, “Sweetie, I think you need to slow down.”

Debbie waved her away with an, “I’m fine, Tam Tam. Leave me alone.” She was embarrassed to be mothered in front of her crush and didn’t want to look like a pathetic lightweight. 

Debbie talked with Lou for the rest of the night, waving goodbye to her friends as they each left in Ubers at various times. Eventually, only Debbie and Lou were left, besides Tammy of course, seeing as how it was her house. 

By this time, Debbie was really feeling all the shots she had taken, which she’d done even after Tammy had warned her to be careful, plus the two beers she’d downed while talking to Lou. Tammy was worried about sending her home, even in an Uber, since Debbie lived alone in her apartment. 

“Why don’t you sleep it off here?” Tammy suggested. She was standing in the doorway as Debbie threw up in the guest bathroom. “I’ve got the guest room made up for you.”

Lou, who was holding Debbie’s hair back, shook her head. “Nah. You’ve got your family here, and Debbie is beyond wasted. I’ll Uber with her back to her place, and keep an eye on her tonight.”

Tammy nodded. “Okay. Thank you, Lou.” Inside, Tammy was pleased with how Debbie’s plan was going, which was even better than anyone had anticipated. Debbie had not only slid into Lou’s good graces, and had great hours-long conversations with her, but now the two would get to have a night together. Granted, it wasn’t exactly romantic, considering how Debbie kept vomiting both the contents of her stomach and those of her mind. 

“Strap queeeeen,” Debbie giggled as Lou guided her into the backseat of the Uber. “All hail the Strap Queen, Queen of the Gays!” She slumped over unconscious, her head landing in Lou’s lap. Tammy waved from the porch as the Uber pulled out, Lou stroking Debbie’s long brown hair while monitoring her breathing, a bucket between her legs. It was a shame that Debbie was out cold, or she would have really enjoyed this attention from her crush. 

Debbie came to as Lou was helping her out of the Uber into the cool night air. “Lou la Lou,” she mumbled. “You’re my Lou Lou Louuuuuuu.” She almost slid right out of Lou’s arms, so the other woman picked her up bridal style to carry her up the stairs to Debbie’s second-floor apartment. “Wheeeeee! This is fun, Lou! Lets ride this ride again, okay? After I puke. Because rides can make you puke, right? I puked, didn’t I? Back at Tam Tam’s?”

Lou fumbled with the keys, focusing on not dropping Debbie while getting the door open and maneuvering them to Debbie’s bedroom. “Quiet, love,” she murmured gently while helping her into bed, removing Debbie’s stilettos and tucking the sheets up around her body, still clothed in the lacy dress she had worn for opening night. “It’s time for sleep, okay? I’ll be right here.”

“Louuuuu is here for meeeee. Wheeeee.” Debbie’s voice was barely intelligible, becoming quieter and more slurred as she drifted off. Soon she was fast asleep, hair sprawled on the pillowcase like seaweed on a white-sanded beach.

Lou made sure Debbie was settled for the moment, then dashed to get the plastic trash can from the bathroom to set by the bed, and a cup of water from the kitchen to place on Debbie’s nightstand. Then she crawled into the sheets beside Debbie, head propped on her arm, listening to Debbie’s even breaths in the gathering stillness. 

Lou had never imagined that she’d be here, in this particular woman’s bed, after a night of drinking with the backstage crew. But she had thoroughly enjoyed herself, and the time had flown without her knowledge. These were women untouched by the presumptuous flaunting displayed by the actors, women who were genuine and welcoming and kind. It was a pleasant change of pace from the posturing she’d endured while socializing with the elite, and she hoped her new acquaintances liked her as much as she liked them. 

Her conversations with Debbie had been fascinating and engaging, on par with her own level of intelligence and wit, similar in tastes and interests. Lou was unused to having such intriguing discussions, since not many people knew about her fondness for Proust or radical ideas about the pitfalls of patriarchy. Debbie was a breath of fresh air, an unassuming flower with the sweetest scent. Lou felt a spark of fondness, as yet unformed and unexplained. But she wanted to see more of her, wanted to be closer to her and get to know every shining facet of her diamond mind. 

If only Debbie could have known the other woman’s thoughts. If only she were aware that her quarry had been snared, a wild animal now becoming tamed by her gentling. From here on out, Lou was hers for the winning. Phase one was complete.


	3. Pancakes Do(n’t) Make You Gay

The morning light was streaming through the panes of the window glass, radiant beams playing gently on the walls of Debbie’s bedroom. The sun had been rising for hours and was now quite high in its ascent through the sky, its luminance angled down from the uppermost border of the window. There was a gentle hush in the air as Debbie slept soundly, quiet breaths slow and even, her body still beneath the light purple duvet. Lou was perched on the white leather armchair beside the queen-sized bed, watching the other woman sleep like a dove with sweet eyes perched upon a telephone wire. Thoughts of last night’s events replayed though her mind like a song stuck within the folds of her brain, its fading echos mysteriously poignant. She remembered one particular phrase that had fallen from Debbie’s carmine lips- ‘my Lou’. The words had sounded so casual and familiar, as though Debbie’s mind was used to thinking of Lou in this way, yet so unrehearsed and natural. To anyone else, the words would have seemed inconsequential, but to Lou they held a certain significance she couldn’t quite place, a sentiment slurred by alcohol, yet still clear enough as to make an impression upon Lou’s mind. Debbie had probably been referring to Lou as her friend, and yet Lou couldn’t help but hope that Debbie had unknowingly been hinting at a deeper emotion. For within Lou, a fondness for the other woman was beginning to blossom, as yet only a green shoot signifying new growth, but Lou didn’t doubt that if she were to spend more time with Debbie, that shoot would soon flower in magnificent splendor. 

Debbie swam her way up from the foggy depths of sleep, her eyes fluttering open in weary acceptance of the day’s rising. Her hand went to her head, which was pounding with bass beats of pain, spinning like a top in vertigo. Her stomach was murky and unpleasant, yet not nauseated enough to vomit, trapping the awful feeling within her. Her awareness came to her from a slow-motion reel. At first she was starkly unaware of Lou’s presence in the room, yawning and sitting up with a grimace as she felt her body protest at the sudden movement. When she spotted the other woman, Debbie started as though from a jump scare in a horror movie, her heart jolting with surprise that was not altogether unpleasant. 

“Jesus, Lou,” she murmured, her voice cottony with sleep. “You scared the fuck out of me.” Her hands went automatically to rub the sleep from her eyes, then moved to her temples where she rubbed circles of pressure, hoping to alleviate the discomfort throbbing beneath them. 

Lou smiled lazily, one half of her mouth raised higher than the other in her trademark lopsided smirk. “Good morning, sleepyhead. How did you sleep?” Her blue eyes sparkled with the secrets of the time during which Debbie had been blacked out and unaware. 

“What even happened last night?” Debbie wondered aloud, noting the glass of water beside her bed as she spoke. She picked up the glass, draining it in seconds before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Oh, nothing much.” Lou’s coyness danced in her eyes and within her smile. “Apparently I’m your strap queen.” She managed to hold back a burst of laughter, recalling the hilarious manner Debbie had adopted while drunk. “And you were on a ride? You were absolutely hammered.”

Debbie moaned, her head dropping into her hands as a wave of shame swept over her. “Oh my god, Lou, I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble? Also, how did you end up in my bedroom? Did we-“ She broke off as her face shot up, reddened and searing with embarrassed confusion. 

“No, we didn’t,” Lou assured her, noting to herself the fact that Debbie considered sex with her within the realm of possibility. “You were puking at Tammy’s, and everyone else had already left, so I took you home in an Uber and got you into bed. I stayed awake practically all night to make sure you were okay.”

Debbie looked astonished, her face softening with grateful disbelief. “You really did that for me? You didn’t have to, you know.” Her mind was reeling, not just from lightheadedness, but also from the idea that Lou had cared enough to attend to her. She wished she had been conscious enough to appreciate Lou taking care of her, feeling a small prick of disappointment, but also a great deal of shame at having gotten that wasted in the first place. 

“I couldn’t have left you alone like that,” Lou reasoned, though her pragmatic declaration was laced with sentiment. “I stayed with you, not just because it was the right thing to do, but also because I care about you.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, Lou’s playgirl demeanor usually keeping her from admitting such vulnerable truths. 

A pleasant silence fell over Debbie, a smile curving her mouth as her mind absorbed this information. The woman she had so adored for so long had just admitted she cared, and it was a small blessing that Debbie hadn’t been expecting. She hadn’t been anticipating anything to come from the party except maybe the casual conversation of acquaintances, but the night had taken a decided turn for the better. She sighed, suddenly feeling ashamed about her carelessness. “I’m so grateful that you were there for me, Lou. I apologize for being such a handful. I really do appreciate you taking care of me and making sure I was okay.”

“It was nothing,” Lou dismissed with a small smile. “Like I said, I care about you.” After a beat of slightly uncertain silence, as though her mind were teetering on some precipice of decision, she added, “We had some really great discussions last night. Before you got wasted, I mean. You’re such an intellectual, and it was so nice to finally find someone who shares my interests and passions. We make quite a team, don’t we, Ocean?”

Debbie nodded, liking the sound of that. “Yeah, I guess we do,” she agreed in quiet contemplation, almost to herself. 

The silence that followed wasn’t even remotely uncomfortable, both of their minds full of happy speculation of their developing bond. Birds sang outside, the trilling notes drifting in through the window like lilting promises of good fortune. The sunlight added a pleasant filter on the faces of the two women, lighting them with a sheen of contentedness. But though she sat in the comfort of silence, Debbie’s mind was traveling at the speed of light, rocketing through her like a sped-up silent film of what she could remember of the night before. It wasn’t much, just brief flashes of consciousness among the blackened blur; but she did recall talking with Lou late into the night about all sorts of topics: feminism, Proust, the patriarchy. She hadn’t known before how much of an intellectual Lou was, her intelligence craftily hidden behind a facade of prideful dalliance perpetuated by her numerous flirtations and the confident energy she always exuded. Debbie supposed that this mask which Lou wore was to protect the vulnerable emotions within. Perhaps Lou thought she wasn’t enough as she was?

After a while, Debbie glanced over at Lou with a question written between the lines of her face. “I never knew you were so brilliant, Lou,” she admitted. “You always seemed more interested in women and partying than books and philosophy, and you’ve never before broached such topics.”

Lou seemed to sink within herself at Debbie’s words, her posture crumbling like stale bread. “That’s because I project that image, the one of fun-loving party animal, cocky and arrogant, the power and the freedom, because that brilliant light of intelligence within me has been more of a glare than a beacon. In my younger years at school, I didn’t hide my interests. I wore them like a badge. But when the other kids started to draw away from me, calling me a teacher’s pet, a goodie-two-shoes, joking about my perfect grades and my naive belief that everyone was kind, and I saw the popular girls just laughing over boys and clothes and walking around like they owned the school- well, I wanted a piece of that, to be one of those girls. Nobody wanted to talk about books; they didn’t have time for intellectual discussions. They were too busy socializing, gossiping, shopping, obsessing over boys. And so I filled that role, acted as if I were star of my own show, and soon grew to bask in the glamour and beauty of it.” Lou was looking at her hands, splayed on her thighs, clutching her legs like a lifeline. “I never knew someone could like the parts of me I shoved away on my bookshelves with disdain. I never even dared to believe that someone could accept me as I truly am.”

When Lou had finally looked up again and met Debbie’s eyes, Debbie felt as though she were seeing Lou naked. Her abject vulnerability was exposed, no longer covered in the shadow of insecurity, but plain and clear, as if through a focused camera lens. Debbie was glad that Lou had opened up to her, and she had gained a newfound respect for her that had previously been based solely on blind adoration. But seeing this hidden treasure of truth, Debbie felt herself becoming even more fond of Lou. “Wow,” she whispered. “Lou, I had no idea. I’m sorry you had to deal with bullies, that they made you feel like you had to change who you were to be accepted. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Lou nodded stiffly. “I would appreciate it if you kept this between us,” she said. “I don’t want to go and ruin my reputation.” She gave a small, bemused chuckle at her own words, but the mirth could not rebury the sensitive display of emotion that had been excavated from the depths of her soul. 

“Of course. I promise.” Debbie spoke without hesitation or doubt. She would keep all of Lou’s secrets, happy to be able to share in them and wanting to keep that intimacy all to herself. It was a shimmering thread that now tied them together, a connection that Debbie didn’t want to sever by betraying Lou’s trust. She hoped beyond hope that this connection would grow, weaving between them a web of trust and respect and mutual admiration. She knew that as their bond developed, she would become ensnared in that web like a fly, willing and ready to give herself up to the mercy of Lou’s red-widow love. 

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask,” Lou began; Debbie sat in rapt anticipation, thinking to herself that nothing was too much to ask as long as it came from Lou’s lips, though worrying over what the request could be. But Lou continued, “But do you think I could have something for breakfast? I’m really hungry.”

“Sure, of course,” Debbie answered, feeling a small dip of sadness that Lou hadn’t asked something more meaningful. “I have ingredients for pancakes. I like to make them homemade, and we can make them together, if you’d like.”

“Sounds good.” Lou stood up from the chair, holding a hand out to Debbie to help her rise from the bed. Debbie was utterly disappointed that Lou released her hand as soon as Debbie was on her feet, almost daring to pretend she was excruciatingly dizzy to get Lou to put her arm around her waist. But she decided against it, not wanting to cause Lou unnecessary worry for her own purely selfish motivations. 

The two headed side by side to the kitchen, where Debbie pulled ingredients from the cabinets and laid them out on the small faux-marble island in the room’s center. The kitchen was rather small, a dwarf in comparison to Tammy’s giant industrial-sized kitchen, but Debbie was happy with it. She wasn’t a master chef, only enjoying making the occasional baked good. She also adored making pancakes, as they were her favorite breakfast food. 

“I hope you like blueberry,” Debbie said, pulling a bag of dried, sweetened blueberries from a cupboard beside the white refrigerator. “I always make blueberry pancakes, and I have a special blueberry syrup that makes them absolutely divine.”

“Mmmmm,” Lou intoned, almost sensually, impressed by Debbie’s skill. “You’re quite the gourmand, aren’t you?”

Debbie laughed, sharp and sarcastic like a seal’s bark. “Not really. This is basically the only thing I can make.” She picked up a measuring cup, handing it to Lou. “Measure out one and one-quarter cups of flour, por favor.”

Lou made a jokey salute, faux military style. “Roger that.” She giggled and poured an avalanche of the powdery substance into the glass measuring cup. “Oh, fuck. I just poured way too much.” The flour sifted from the cup and floated in the air like dust particles in a beam of light. 

Debbie chuckled, having already measured the salt, baking powder, and white sugar. “I can tell you don’t cook,” she teased, pouring her dry ingredients into a red plastic mixing bowl with a skilled hand. She took the cup from Lou, pouring just enough back into the canister so one cup remained, then added it to the bowl, followed by a quarter cup of the same. 

“I don’t,” Lou admitted. “I just don’t have the patience. I prefer the instant gratification of something already made.” She paused, surveying the remaining ingredients and sighing comically. “I suppose there isn’t something left I might actually be good at helping with, is there?”

“No way.” Debbie was carefully cracking an egg against the side of the mixing bowl. “You can just stand there and look good.” She couldn’t believe she had just said that aloud, blushing as she cut a pat of butter to melt in the microwave. She was silent as she weighed and added the milk and blueberries, folding in the butter when the microwave timer beeped. She focused on stirring the mixture as though it necessitated every single ounce of her concentration. 

“Oh?” Lou’s voice was slightly cocky, but not enough to hide the shade of pleasure she really felt at Debbie’s words. She herself found Debbie very attractive, drawn in by the woman’s sharp features and shining brunette hair. She hadn’t mentioned it before now, unsure whether the other woman would reciprocate her feelings. But hearing this confession gave her courage. “You’re not so bad looking yourself, Ocean.”

These words, to anyone else, would have sounded like a joke, a playful jest of friendship. But somehow, Debbie knew that Lou really meant them. “Thanks.” The word felt wobbly on her uncertain tongue, her brain sparking with the knowledge that Lou thought her attractive. She was drowning in happiness, over her head in joyful imaginings. 

Lou cleared her throat, trying to get the other woman’s attention. “Are we going to actually make the pancakes, or are we going to just eat the batter?” Her playful demeanor made Debbie feel more at ease with the reality of the situation, effectively bringing her back down from her brief recess on Cloud Nine. 

“Oh, right, of course,” Debbie managed. She and Lou both scooped spoonfuls of batter onto the griddle, waiting and flipping them with a spatula as each side of each pancake was done. 

“You know,” Lou mused while they worked, “Pancakes don’t make you gay.”

“Huh?” Debbie was confused. “What do pancakes have to do with being gay?”

“I don’t really know,” Lou admitted. “I overheard some of the actors saying that in the green room last night and it sort of stuck.” She gave a laugh, then said, “So, Debbie, do pancakes make YOU gay?” She was fishing, curious to know for certain what Debbie’s sexuality was so she didn’t overstep any boundaries. After all, Lou had by this time taken a decided interest in Debbie, having grown rather fond of the woman’s mind and looks. There was something in the way Debbie moved, the way she deported herself with a sort of humble confidence that Lou admired. It was a rare quality, to be certain, and one that Lou wished she herself were able to carry off. 

Debbie was surprised by the question, flipping the last pancake as its reverse side was fully cooked. “I don’t know about pancakes,” Debbie acknowledged, “but I am gay.” The confession hung in the air like a fog, and Debbie was scared as to what lay hidden behind it. “Well, bisexual, actually,” she amended. “I dated this art dealer for a while, and he was a man.” Her words sounded foolish even to her own ears, her mouth rambling to try to hide her naked uncertainty. 

“I’m gay gay,” Lou said with confident knowledge of herself and her sexuality, which made Debbie feel both pleased and jealous, wishing she could be that comfortable admitting her deep secret. Lou went on, “I thought I was bisexual for the longest time, but I was only lying to myself. I felt like, whenever I was with men, I had to play this role. Like I had to be this charming sex kitten, like I was watching myself perform on a stage, in makeup and costume, yet I was watching from a seat in the audience. It didn’t feel natural.” She took a spatula and transferred the last pancake to the stack on the blue flower patterned china plate. “But when I’m with women, I feel comfortable, natural. No more watching or acting, but actual presence and reality. I’ve known since I was twenty-five that I’m a lesbian, and it’s been my truth ever since.”

Debbie set plates, glasses, and forks in the place settings of her mahogany two-person dining table, setting a jug of blueberry syrup and a pitcher of berry smoothie in the center. Lou sat down, her movements slinky and smooth, the attraction of this registering dimly in Debbie’s mind. As she sat, then heaped pancakes on both hers and Lou’s plates, she thought deeply about her sexuality. It wasn’t like she was afraid to admit it, or ashamed of being bisexual. But she wondered if she hadn’t been playing that role with men that Lou had experienced. She recalled her fling with Claude Becker, her ex boyfriend. Debbie had met him at an art showing at his own personal gallery, awed by his work and charmed by his roguishly handsome looks. He had been so sure of himself, so rich in confidence and stature, that it felt to Debbie as though she had assimilated some of it into her own being. Within a night of champagne and flirting beneath the various paintings of the gallery, Debbie had found herself in bed with him, and the next morning she had felt awash with regret. She had never been one to sleep with a man on the first date before, and it surprised her, the lengths she had gone to in order to make him hers. They dated for months, him lavishing her with expensive gifts bought by the sale of his art, her basking in the society that had now been opened to her. She realized now, with a heavy pang in her heart, that with Claude, it hadn’t been about the connection, but rather about the perks she received from the association. He had made her feel powerful, and she got drunk on that power, becoming inebriated with the rich parties and gifts of the elite. But Claude had been a philanderer, and Debbie had dumped him without a single ounce of regret. In the short time she spent with Lou, she had already developed more feelings for her than she had ever felt for Claude. She began to suspect that she, too, was actually a lesbian, and had only varnished it over all those years in the guise of bisexuality. 

“These pancakes are fucking amazing!” Lou exclaimed, effectively shaking Debbie from her reverie. “I think these pancakes are making me gay for them.” She had already finished two of them, while Debbie hadn’t taken a single bite. “Debbie, are you okay? You aren’t eating. And you didn’t laugh at my joke.” Concern alighted in her eyes as she set her fork back on her plate. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Debbie reassured. “I was just lost in thought, you know?” She hastily began shoveling pancake into her mouth to dispel any uncertainty Lou might have retained. “My ex? He was a cheating bastard and I don’t even know if I’ll ever date another man, I swear to god.”

“Men are shit.” Lou spoke with a strong decidedness in her words. “I’m sorry you had to put up with his shit, and good riddance to him, I say. You deserve better.” You deserve me, she wanted to say, but the words would not dare to twine through her lips from the secret garden in her heart, where her feelings for Debbie had been planted. She wanted to water them, nurture them, sit patiently as the sun warmed them and they grew at their natural pace, knowing her caution would wield a more beautiful flower. 

After the most delicious breakfast Lou had ever tasted, she thought maybe she had overstayed her welcome, and told Debbie she had better get going. Debbie was slightly sad at having to part with Lou after bonding so well with her, but she didn’t want to seem clingy or needy. She waved Lou goodbye, watching her drive off with a kind of lonely happiness within her chest. She had wanted to hug Lou, or even kiss her, but Debbie didn’t want to push things too quickly toward her desires. She stood in the window, still gazing out though the car had long disappeared down the city street, watching the wind gently caress the uppermost branches of the tree in front of her window. A robin was perched on a sturdy bough, chirping merrily. Suddenly, a car horn honked below, startling the bird into flying away in a fit of ruffled feathers. 

Debbie looked down and saw her black Honda Accord pulling into her accustomed parking spot along the road in front of her building. From the front seat sprang Tammy, who had driven the car from her house, where Debbie had left it the previous evening, before she had become too drunk to drive it home. Tammy spotted Debbie in the window, waving up at her, then stepping toward the call box to ring apartment 2A, Debbie immediately accepting the request and alletting her friend the permission to enter the building. The door unlocked with a little click, and Tammy practically bounded up the stairs to get to her friend. 

“Debbie!” she enthused as the other woman swept her into the apartment with a kind wave of her arm. “You and Lou were so good together last night! I’m so happy for you! But also, I wanted to make sure you were okay. You were disgustingly sauced last night.” She sat down on the crimson plush sofa, crossing one leg primly over the other as she settled into the cushion. 

“I’m all right,” Debbie assured her friend. “Lou took really good care of me, and stayed the night to make sure I was okay. I was so grateful to her this morning and we made pancakes together.” She smiled fondly and let out a little note of a laugh. “Well, I made the pancakes. Lou just spilled flour everywhere.” She was seated on the opposite end of the couch, her legs folded like a pretzel. “Did you know that pancakes make you gay?” Her eyes were somewhat glazed and her voice elevated in joy. 

“What?” Tammy’s face contorted in confusion. “Pancakes don’t make you gay.”

Debbie laughed. “Just something Lou said.” She paused for a moment, letting the memory play through her mind, then continued. “Lou and I had the best conversations last night and this morning. We really clicked, and I felt so comfortable around her. She was a delight to talk to, and her mind is so beautiful and unique. It made me fall for her even more.”

“Awww,” Tammy cooed, half pleased and half teasing. “Someone’s got a huge crush. Your fond is showing.” Secretly, she was chuffed that her friend was so happy. It felt good to see Debbie smile and laugh, illuminated like a firefly’s light, glowing from within. Tammy was genuinely rooting for Debbie to be successful with Lou, and supported the relationship as much as a fangirl supported her favorite ship. 

“Thanks.” Debbie rolled her eyes in fond acceptance of the joke. “Honestly, though, I didn’t expect me and Lou to have so much in common. She seems so otherworldly to me that seeing the genuine incarnation of her felt like seeing an angel walk upon the earth. Not disappointing, but rather as though she became more accessible and less like a mirage.” Her fondness for Lou was indeed showing, her smile unyielding and her face lit from within. 

“I’m really happy for you, Debs.” Tammy smiled widely at her friend as she laid a hand on her friend’s knee. “You deserve this happiness.” When she pulled back her hand, her smile stayed and she sounded downright jovial. “So when will you see her again? Besides the play, of course.”

Debbie suddenly felt a small stone drop into her stomach. “Oh, shit. I never asked her to hang out again. Why the fuck didn’t I?” All of her joy at having had such a good time with Lou began to melt like ice cream in the sun. She could have kicked herself for being so careless. After all, hanging out with Lou more was Phase Two of her plan. There wasn’t time to be complacent. 

“Don’t worry,” said Tammy, noticing the panic and pallor that had befallen Debbie’s features. “You can just ask her tonight, after the show. Go somewhere nice, just the two of you. Me and the girls already decided on excuses, pretending to have to be somewhere or do something, so you can be alone with her. That way, it won’t be so obvious that you’re trying to get her alone. Just get yourself feeling better and we’ll handle the rest.”

Debbie nodded, feeling the color come back to her cheeks. “Okay. I’ll be ready. Phase Two begins tonight.”

Tammy nodded. “Good.” She looked down, becoming aware of Debbie’s slovenly appearance and the aura of alcohol that surrounded her. “Debs, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you need a shower.”

Debbie laughed and nodded. “Fair point. I’ll see you tonight, Tam Tam.” And as she saw Tammy out to her Uber, she felt a fierce determination spreading within her. Though it scared her that she would have to make the first move, that she would be treading outside her comfort zone to ask Lou to hang out, she was willing to do so. She would do anything it took to win the woman of her dreams, even- as she would discover much later- committing a crime.


End file.
